


Fall from Grace

by RougueShadowWolf



Series: 15 Minutes [14]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek and Stiles are Mates, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, M/M, POV Stiles, Stiles Stilinski is a Winchester, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:13:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougueShadowWolf/pseuds/RougueShadowWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all over, I know this much. I know how much my body can take. I know how much my mind can bend. But before I die, will you hear my story? There are such beasts as werewolves and winged figures like Angels in it, will you listen for a while?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall from Grace

**Author's Note:**

> It's been over a year since the person who asked for this story took her life, she was a huge fan of supernatural and we would watch the show and text each other this and that about what had happened on the show; she loved Sam with a passion while I myself am more of a Dean-girl, but both of us would have loved to have Bobby in our families. She had just gotten bit By the Sterek bug and asked for this story, which I'm only posting the first chapter of because well, it sounds good enough. 
> 
> I know this isn't really a 15minutes fic. but I would give anything to just have my Sammy back for at least 15minutes so I could hug her once more and tell her, `we've got this Sammy.´
> 
> I miss my Sam every day, and today as I was cleaning my Computer I found this and thought I should put it up, because she used to ask me why I never allowed other people to read my stories; after she died it took me months before I dared to post my first fic. 
> 
> So, here's to you Sammy. If there's a heaven I hope you've seen how I grew a wee inch of a spine last summer.

 

You know what people say about life flashing before their eyes when death threatens to claim? You know that moment, when your body is but inches away from exhaling its final breath, when the last beat of your heart threatens, when the warmth of your body begins to fade, when your soul is ready to depart; that is what is happening to me, right now, but it’s nothing like a flash more like a movie I’m watching, the image sharp and clear at times while at other times fuzzy and crackling. All that’s missing is the sappy or dramatic background music and some popcorn. 

 

This really shouldn’t be such a surprise to me, as I’ve always sort of known it would come to this. In the depths of my mind I knew I would not die in a warm bed surrounded by people I loved and who loved me. Regardless of how hard I have tried to convince myself to believe different. Still, I’ve always known that there was no way in Hell that I would die from cancer, believing that I would perish after reaching a great age has not sat well in my mind. I must admit dying suddenly in a car crash or any other accidental death, would have surprised me far more than it would most people. 

 

However, I must admit that I never thought my death would come by the hands of a man who is in the same line of work as the men in my family are. It never crossed my mind that someone, human, that has seen me grow from a toddler to a teenager would be my killer. It never passed my wildest fantasies that a man who had many times found shelter under our roof, could be the one to send me to my grave – or however he shall dispose of my remains. I must admit that this end has given me the greatest surprise ever. 

 

I’ve never liked surprises, and now I know why, because this one really sucks-fucking-big-time!

 

I could handle my death being in the hands of something like a demon or a Hell Hound. Damn it, even a pissed-off-psychotic-werewolf! Fuck, even a vengeful angel would be fine. Fuck! Anything other than a human would be fine with me, because this is just not fair on me or my family – Hell! this isn’t even fair on this asshole that’s been slowly preparing me for Deaths arrival. 

 

You’re probably wondering how I ended up chained to a wall in a basement that is so made for a horror movie, body bloody and beaten. Wondering why most of my fingers are broken or out of their sockets, and why most of my ribs are either cracked or broken. Your probably also wondering what the hell am I talking about, with all the demon crap, but trust me I’m not insane – well, maybe I am a little unhinged, but hours and hours of torture does that. 

 

Well, I should probably point out that nothing in my life has ever really been what you’d call “normal” or “ordinary”. My family is a collection of slightly damaged souls, and peculiar people. And I firmly believe that the life I’ve lived and the family I’ve been born into, is sort of the reason behind this moment, this moment of my dying. 

 

Is it strange that I’m finding myself laughing here? Well, I find it rather hysterical the fact that a man who thinks himself not a monster has proven this fact wrong by his own actions. I also find a bit bemusing that this son of bitches is going to get a taste of Winchester-vengeance once all this is over and done, if he’s very much unfortunate he will have a met and great with my boyfriend and his pack instead of mine, can’t say I’d want to be this dumb-dumb. If I was one with a vengeful spirit, I could take peace from the knowledge that my revenge will fall with the wrath of epic proportions – the ancient gods and their acts of vengeance will be overshadowed by the actions of my mate and family. 

 

I understand that you might find this hard to believe, that the life I have lived (however short it maybe) is not the ordinary life you’ve probably lived. 

 

I understand that it might be difficult for you to understand that our house is as peculiar as the history of my family. You may look upon our house and think it’s just another farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, trust you me it is anything but. 

 

People, ordinary people think they’ve got us all figured out. But if you only knew, if they only knew, what secrets hide deep within the walls…

 

People don’t know that our entire house is armed and ready for battle, prepared for man-made wars or the supernatural kind. Our house looks so ordinary on the outside but on the inside it is anything but ordinary.

 

Would you find it strange to know that underneath the wallpapers of each room, ancient symbols and words have been carved and burned into the wood, all designed to protect and keep evil outside; to keep us safe and hidden from those who would wish us harm. 

 

Would you dare sit anywhere if you knew that there are loaded sawed-off shotguns hidden underneath the cushions of the couches, various loaded handguns and hunters-knives attached beneath the chairs and tables? How would you feel knowing, that in those bookcases there are hidden weapons, ready to be used if we suspect you’re a threat? 

 

Would you dare sleep over? Rest easily, knowing that your body is resting upon weapons designed to kill? That leaving your room might get you killed, when everyone in the house sleep with a gun or a knife under their pillows? 

 

Would you, honestly, dare enter a house that has several hidden rooms down in the basement? Rooms designed to keep anything and anyone locked inside them, if need be keep them for all eternity? As well as an armory full of weapons, a chamber where new bullets can be forged, where knives can be sharpened, where various guns spread across the walls in specific order and military fashion? 

 

Would you believe me if I told you my family are hunters, and not the sort that go off in the woods killing off helpless animals – fine, yes, Bobby does – but that they hunt creatures most people believe only dwell in story books and myths and legends; vampires and werewolves, ghosts and demons, and oh so much more.

 

I know you find this all hard to believe, don’t you? Just try and listen, and understand that I know how hard this is, we rarely tell people about all these fucked-up secrets that we keep or about the unorthodox lives we live. I understand that what I’m about to tell you will be hard to believe – trust me, I know, I wasn’t always aware of the monsters that go bump in the night. 

 

But please, please, try and keep an open mind and listen to the confessions of a dying kid. Please, allow me to tell you the last tale I shall tell, and do what you wish with it. But please, be kind and listen. 

 

I should explain a few things about my family, and thus breaking some of the illusions you might have, and tell you a few hidden truths about those people who have spent sixteen-years raising me not to end up the way I have. It’s not their fault that I’ve ended this way, it’s all my own fault – although, one might argue… no, I won’t place the blame anywhere else than myself. 

 

You may of course make your own judgments, but do not judge to harshly for there are others who do so already. 

 

I know my family will blame themselves, they always do; when I was nine and fell from the old oak-tree in the backyard of our house, they all blamed themselves Bobby for not being fast enough to catch me, Sam for not watching me closely, Cash for not being there and Dad for not cutting down the old dying tree. And back then, I only broke my arm, this time my entire body is broken and soon I will be dead. 

 

Sam’s probably going to dive into either finding these sons-of-bitches or he’ll just go all out furious, blaming everyone and himself. Bobby’s just going to drink until he’s numb, until he has calmed down enough to continue on. Cash, he’s probably going to just try and comfort the three humans as he sees best, and I think all three will be lashing out at him, and he’ll probably think about what he could have done differently – I blame my dad for making Cash more than just familiar with human emotions. My dad will probably move his anger, the anger fueled by alcohol, eventually from himself and Cash towards my boyfriend…. my mate. 

 

But back to my family, forgive me, my mind is a bit unfocused with this dying thing that I’ve got going on. 

 

Now people see my dad as a rather good-looking man, or as my teacher Ms. St. John said once “a-right-out-gorges-piece-of-man-flesh”, and because of his looks and his rather primal needs he has charmed his way into almost every woman in town. Even my friend is drooling over my dad, which I find disturbing and disgusting. But none of them know that there is far more to Dean Winchester than his looks, they can’t see past the image of just another ordinary mechanic who works from nine to five, who hunts during the weekends, who has lost more than most people ever will – he never married my mother, but people don’t know that. People just don’t know he has been to Hell and back more than once - and I mean he has literally been to Hell and back, the real Hell the very place where the slogan should be; Hell gives new meaning to torture or Hell, we’ll make you scream for an eternity. 

 

He ended up in Hell not because he was some evil-bastard that deserved such a horrible fate, he ended up there because he sold his soul to save his brother, to bring Sam back from the dead. He ended up in purgatory in order to get Cash back. 

 

I’ve always known that my dad would do anything for his family and his friends, going as far as ending up in Hell. It was the one thing in my childhood that was more certain than anything else, I always knew he would keep me safe, that he would do anything for me. 

 

Now, it’s just not the going to Hell part that makes my dad a bit different from Mr. Jefferson, my dad has died so many times it’s not even funny but most of his deaths came in the hands of a so-called-trickster who turned out to be none other than Loki and Loki turned out to be the angel Gabriel – oh, did that sound confusing? Well, another angel Castiel pulled my dad out of Hell, and since then Cash has been hanging around dad. 

 

By the way, my dad was also supposed to be a vessel for the archangel Michael, or as my dad so lovingly called it “being-an-angel-condom” – so, we’re not big on trusting angels, except for Cash, although there has been the odd occasion when that trust has been put on trial. Dad’s also been close to turning into a vampire, because Sam sort of fell off the “hey-protect-the-family-wagon” and… no, that’s enough; I’ll be dead before I’ve finished with the history of Dean Winchester. 

 

My uncle Sam is the deputy-sheriff in this little town of ours, and is well respected, although when he’s on duty the women of the town and the neighboring county seem to lose their ability to drive and not to get intoxicated in public or and their ability to not shoplift vanishes. My uncle is also considered good-looking – or as my friend Danny has phrased it “giant-piece-of-sexy-ass-and-hot-bodied-goodness”. Although he is engaged with the sheriff daughter, the women population of this town (+ most gay men in town and the nearby counties) still throw themselves at him. 

 

But the question I ask you, would they throw themselves at his feet if they knew what secrets he keeps? Would it frighten you to know he was addicted to demon-blood, and still is? He’s been to Hell – it’s sort of a family thing. And that when he came back from hell, he had no soul! And having no soul left him unable to feel things, to see the difference between right and wrong. 

 

Oh, and this is the big kicker, Sam was meant to be and was the vessel for Lucifer – oh, yes, the big baster down under, Satan, the dark lord and dark master himself. I’m still not kidding with you. But he’s not a bad person at all, he’s just been… well, unlucky that’s all. 

 

Then there is Bobby, people like you probably think that he’s my grandfather and we let you think that, even though he is not of any real blood-relation to us. He’s the most normal person in my family, except for me. Bobby is really the closest thing I have to a grandfather, considering those biological ones are dead and gone. 

 

Sure, Bobby drinks a lot and he is as verbally gifted as a drunken sailor. Fine, yes, Bobby has a few secrets like the whole killing his possessed wife, dying and coming back to life, growing super old and then turning normal, ending up in a wheelchair and then getting all healed up. Oh, and he too sort of lost his rights to his soul to a demon by the name of Crowley – although he got it back. Yeah, so, maybe he’s not that normal… but still, he hasn’t been Lucifer, right?

 

And then there is Cash, Castiel, who is considered by most people to just be another Winchester, another uncle of mine. But he’s not, not a Winchester, not my uncle, no blood-relation, and not even bloody-human. You see, Cash is an angel, an angel of the lord – sorry, but it always makes me laugh! 

 

And Cash is as serious as a heart-attack, and the man can’t tell a lie; it’s because of him I learned at the age of four that there is always a risk that there are monster under the bed or in the closet, that I should be wary about things-that-go-bump-in-the-night, this lovely piece of information has left enough scars on me to make me sleep with at least my desk-lamp on - don’t laugh, I’m serious, when you realize how dangerous the world is, when you realize there are things in the world that can come through locked windows and doors without a sound, that will really fucking mess you up. 

 

My dad wasn’t too happy about Cash telling me about all the dangers in the world, all those monsters lurking in the dark, as my dad felt and still feels that when it comes to some of the really bad things lying to me is the best and only option. And I’ve sort of enjoyed asking questions I know he won’t like answering, like the time I asked him what is sex; seriously the panic on his face, it still tickles my insides, he told me it was something people wanted to do if they wanted to hurt themselves – which caused me to ask him why he kept on hurting himself and every woman in town, to this he responded by asking me if I wanted some ice-cream. 

 

So that’s my family, my dad’s been to hell and back, my uncle-Sam was Lucifer’s puppet, my other uncle Cash isn’t really my uncle and he’s and angel that can smite your ass, and Bobby who plays the part of my grandfather is far more dangerous than most grandparents can ever be. 

 

Do we still appear normal to you? Does any of this even remotely seem normal?

 

And I haven’t yet even mentioned the big kicker, the reason why I’m here in a smelly damp basement, beaten and bloody. Why a man who once called me sweet-heart has now spent hours upon hours calling me such names as filth, abomination, traitor and whore and slut. Why a man who had once called me a clever boy, and who once held me through the night when I couldn’t stop crying, why he has beaten me until bones have been cracked and broken, beaten my nose down into a bloody mess and knocked out a few of my teeth. Why the man who once called me sweet-child and precious has torn and burned my skin.

 

You see, my greatest sin – well, at least according to him an opinion perhaps shared by my family – is that I fell in love…..with a werewolf. 

 

My name is Stiles Winchester and I’m the mate of Alpha Derek Hale, and I’m going to die. 

 


End file.
